Jump in the Fire
by legallyinsane93
Summary: *semiAU season 3* Dean Winchester has resigned himself to the fact that his soul will be burning in Hell six months down the line. However, Sam's refusal to let that happen leads him and his brother to a small town in Missouri, unearthing secrets that send another hunter on a collision course with fate and just might save Dean from the Pit. Dean/OC friendship *Rating may change*
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: ONE AND ONLY! I do not own Supernatural. I am not making any money from this project. Anything you recognize is the property of its respective owner. Anything you don't recognize, such as the plot and original characters, is mine. Please do not steal it.**

**Title:** Jump in the Fire

**Summary:** Dean Winchester has resigned himself to the fact that his soul will be burning in Hell six months down the line. Sam, however, refuses to let that happen, following tips from a psychic and an unknown hunter lead him and his brother to a small town in Missouri. Jack Lovell enjoys managing to balance the supernatural world of hunting with the civilian life to which she's grown accustomed, but that balance begins to skew when the Winchesters show up on her doorstep. As the Winchesters unearth secrets that send Jack on a collision course with the destiny she didn't think existed, Heaven and Hell are drawing lines in a war to decide dominion over the Earth. Humanity is caught in the middle, and Dean, Sam, and Jack may be the only ones capable of tipping the scales so humanity can survive.

**Notes:** This story is AU from TV show canon, but will follow most aspects of the storyline. It begins in the middle of season three, after the episodes _Bedtime Stories_ and _Red Sky at Morning_.

* * *

**A/N:** This is my first voyage into the world of Supernatural. I'm excited to share this story, and hope you enjoy it as well! My updating can be quite sporadic, but I hope to at least somewhat consistently maintain a weekly update schedule of Sunday afternoons. I'd love for you guys to review and let me know what you think and whether or not I should continue! Reviews are love, and I respond to each one personally! Thanks for reading! :D

Lauren

* * *

**Prologue**

_An apple. Juicy, red, and seeming altogether perfect from which to take a large bite._

_A frog. Large, fat, and green, croaking in the middle of a sidewalk._

_A pumpkin. Plump, round, and ready to be carved into a festive jack-o-lantern._

_Suddenly, the images faded in a swirl of black smoke, before clearing to reveal a curious scene: two men, one in a blue plaid button-up shirt and the other in a washed out denim jacket, leaned over the guts of a black car trimmed in chrome sitting to the side of what seemed to be a rural backroad. Button-Up Shirt explained something to Denim Jacket about the car being out-of-tune, a valve cover, heads, an intake manifest, and a carborator before the scene became smoky once again._

_When the smoke cleared for a second time, the backs of the two men were still the only thing visible, but the background had changed to a familiar diner, the two men seated on stools at the bar. No voices could be heard, but both men slowly turned in their seats, their faces blurred…_

The woman bolted upright in her bed, breathing heavily, tendrils of blonde hair clinging to a face and neck sheened with sweat. The visions still burned clearly in her mind as she pushed her hair back from her face before reaching shaky hands to retrieve a notepad and pencil from her nightstand. Pulling her knees to her chest, the woman set the pad on her legs and began sketching furiously. After several long minutes, the woman held the pad away from her as though surveying what she'd completed. Satisfied, the woman returned the pad to the nightstand and snuggled back into her blankets, quickly drifting back to sleep.

* * *

"Dean, what are we doing?" A tall, dark haired young man asked as he followed another, slightly shorter, man down a crowded sidewalk lined with old-fashioned store fronts and congested with milling tourists.

"C'mon, Sammy!" Dean replied, looking back at his brother. "We're waiting to find the next job, it's not like we have anything better to do."

"And visiting a psychic is how you wanna burn time?!" Sam replied incredulously, side-stepping a woman pushing a stroller containing a screeching toddler.

"Name one reason why we shouldn't," Dean returned, pausing in front of the window of the shop he was looking for.

"Because most 'psychics' are phony," Sam insisted, taking in the peeling paint of the shop's front window. "If you wanna visit a psychic, why not go to someone we know is reliable?"

"If they're a phony, it's not gonna hurt anything, now is it, Sammy-boy?" Dean stated with a wink, holding open the door and waving Sam inside. "C'mon, it'll be fun." Sam scoffed, but reluctantly entered the small shop.

Such an exchange may have seemed odd to an outsider, particularly one who had no faith in the occult or belief that there actually existed creatures that went bump in the night. Sam and Dean Winchester, however, were not such people. They had first-hand experience with these supposed 'mythical' creatures, and knew that certain aspects of the occult were entirely realistic if one knew how to employ them properly. The two men were hunters, people who operated on the fringe of society to keep the blissfully ignorant safe from the not-so-made-up monsters that would like nothing more than to make the humans dinner. As hunters, the boys knew that humans were not as high on the food chain as society would have people believe. They also had a slightly different idea of what could be conceived as 'fun' than most men their age, which could explain the elder brother's desire to visit a run-down psychic's shop on a random Tuesday morning in November.

"Good afternoon," came a small voice as the boys entered the shop. They looked to find a middle-aged woman standing before a glass cabinet filled with an array of charms and amulets. The woman didn't fit the stereotypical image of a psychic: some old, withered woman in a long dress with a tacky shawl, her hair hidden under a scarf while she stared into a crystal ball. The woman instead seemed like she could be the mother of some unruly teenagers, jeans and a sweater replacing any gypsy costume and black hair streaked with silver bobbed at chin level. "Can I help you with something?"

"Well, you're the psychic, you tell us," Dean said cynically as he and Sam stepped further into the shop, burying their hands deep in their jacket pockets. Over the years, the boys had learned that mysticism and the occult came with their own share of trouble, and so resisted the urge to pick up or touch any of the objects decorating the shelves and displays. "Why are we here?"

"Ah, so you're one of those," the woman said, turning away from the brothers and back to her case, reaching inside to rearrange some of the objects on display. "I had a feeling you would be."

"Oh yeah?" Dean returned, keeping the skepticism in his tone. "And what else do you think you know about us?"

"Dean!" Exasperated with his brother's rude tone, Sam grabbed his brother's arm and turned him around. "I didn't agree to come in here so you could insult the woman."

"Chill out, bro. I'm just feelin' the situation out," Dean explained with a shrug. "Relax. Fun, remember?"

"We have too much we could be doing to be wasting time"—

The shopkeeper cut in before Sam could finish his statement. "I know you need help." The brothers turned to find that the woman had returned her attention to the brothers, crossing the grotesque, blood-colored carpet to stand directly before Dean as she continued. "But not the kind I can give you." She seemed to study Dean's face, even going so far as to reach out and grasp his chin between her thumb and forefinger, tilting his head this way and that. "You have doom written all over you. You've made a deal and you don't want to keep it."

"How do you know that?" Sam asked, his brows furrowing in a mix of confusion and suspicion. The woman chuckled lightly, releasing Dean and gesturing over the boys' shoulder to the peeling window paint reading 'Psychic' in ancient red and gold letters.

"Right." Dean turned back to the woman, who had cocked her head to one side and was peering at Dean like a five-year old boy with a magnifying glass who'd found an anthill. "So, you say you can't do anything for us at all?"

"Well now, I didn't say that," the woman returned, spinning on her heel and walking back over to the counter as the boys followed. She picked up a piece of paper and turned to face the boys again. "I had a vision this morning that the two of you would come in here and I was to give you this." She handed the paper to Sam.

"What's this supposed to mean?" Sam asked as he looked over the paper, Dean craning his neck to see what was so important.

"I don't know," the psychic said nonchalantly. "I saw it in my vision this morning and sketched it out. I just have the visions; the person they're for decides what they mean."

"And this is supposed to help us somehow?" Dean asked doubtfully, cocking an eyebrow as the woman shrugged.

"All I know is I saw that and you and heard a voice saying that if you wanted any chance of getting out of your deal, it would be where that was."

"How much do we owe for this?" Sam inquired, gesturing to the paper.

"On the house," the woman said with a smile and wave of her hand as she leaned back against the counter. "Anything else I can do for you boys?"

The Winchesters declined and took their leave, stepping out of the shop and back into the crisp Massechusetts air. "That was weird," Dean stated as they paused on the sidewalk, Sam still studying the paper the woman had given him. "That mean anything to you?"

"Nope," Sam replied with a shake of his head, soaking in the image on the paper he had been given that looked as though it had been sketched in colored pencil. Two five-point stars outlined in black and filled in with yellow flanked the shape of a kite that had reversed the design of the stars, black filling in a gold outline with a white pointed stripe stretching across the bottom half. As if as an after thought, four symbols had been scrawled out to the side in purple pen. Sam ran his thumb over the hasty add-on, a thoughtful expression coming over his face. "But these are Greek letters: Kappa, Alpha, Theta, and Iota. Kappa Alpha…" Sam trailed off as he folded the paper. "That part does sound familiar."

"So now what?" Dean asked.

"Dean, what made you wanna go to that shop?" Sam demanded. "That shop specifically?"

"I dunno…" Dean shrugged as he noticed Sam staring at him intensely. "I saw it listed in the phone book when we were ordering pizza last night."

"You didn't have any weird feelings or anything as we walked past or when you saw the listing or anything?"

Dean seemed to think for a split second, lips pursed and brow furrowed, before he shook his head and looked at his brother. "Nope. Why?"

"That woman said that, whatever this means, it could help us. More specifically, help you," Sam replied. "That means we need to figure out what it means." He held up the paper before stuffing it in the pocket of his jeans.

"So...research?"

"Yep," Sam confirmed, turning and stalking back the way they'd come.

"Dammit," Dean muttered before following his brother. "I hate research."

* * *

The woman put the finishing touches on her drawing, returning her red pencil to the pile on the desk before picking up a black, felt-tip pen. She scrawled herself a small note and the date before returning the cap to the pen and leaning back as she surveyed the larger, more detailed drawing of her sketch from the night before.

"Who are you two?" She wondered aloud as she surveyed the diner scene. She perfectly knew that diner, the waitress in the corner of the drawing, and everything else about the scene, aside from the two faceless strangers sitting on the barstools. She had the distinct feeling the two figures' identity loomed just at the edge of her mind, and strained for a moment, hoping that maybe the flow of images that sometimes visited her would do so again, but nothing came forth from her brain's shadows. "No matter," she decided, flipping the drawing pad closed and picking up the pile of mail swarming her desk. "I'm sure I'll meet them soon."

* * *

"How's that research coming, Sammy?" Dean asked through a mouthful of food as his brother stared into the laptop screen before him. The two sat in yet another hotel room, three beer bottles already littering the nightstand beside the bed where Dean reclined, filling his stomach with the customary cheeseburger with extra onions. Sam had a single beer open on the table beside his own bed, still half full, and was transfixed on his laptop as though it were the only thing keeping him breathing. The TV was turned to a baseball game that Dean was at least pretending to watch, the light from the screen flickering over patterned wallpaper that looked to be from the seventies, complete with sections peeling away in places.

"Well, Bobby had absolutely no clue," Sam began with a huff, running a hand through his hair as he looked up at his brother. "But I looked up the Greek letters and had a hit. Kappa Alpha"—

"Whoa, wait. The other research, Sam," Dean interrupted sternly. "For the actual job. Not this psychic picture crap you're obsessing over."

"I'm not obsessing, Dean. I just think it should be looked into." Sam hit a few keys on his laptop with a sigh. "As for the other research, everything I've found confirms what Bobby said: there's a vampire nest in the area. People disappearing at night, all frequenting the same bar. It's pretty clear cut. Can I finish what I was saying now?"

"Why are you so set on this?" Dean demanded. "We've been to every professor and hunter in the country who could possibly know anything. There's no way to get out of my deal, Sam."

"Because I refuse to accept that you won't be here in six months!" Sam cried, glaring at his brother. "Maybe we have been to every possible source in the country, but if there's even the slightest chance that this is different, I'm gonna give it a try." Sam glowered fiercely at his brother before taking a deep breath and forcing himself to calm down. "Besides, this feels right for some reason—like maybe we're finally catching a break."

Dean seemed to study his brother for a second, brow furrowed and food forgotten in his lap, before he finally lowered his gaze and slumped his shoulders in defeat. "Fine. If it'll make you feel better, we'll check this out. Watcha got?"

"Thanks," Sam returned, looking back to his laptop. "As I was saying, Kappa Alpha Theta is a sorority- the first sorority to be exact. It was founded in 1870 at DePauw University in Indiana and its major symbols are, of course, a kite and twin stars, just like in the psychic's drawing. It sounded familiar because Stanford has a chapter; Jess had several friends in it. Luckily for us, the psychic included the fourth letter with the first three, or we'd be screwed. Kappa has over a hundred chapters all across the nation, but only one chapter is designated Iota, and that's the chapter at Cornell University in New York."

"Somehow I doubt some preppy Cornell sorority girl is gonna be much help when it comes to dealing with demons," Dean returned skeptically. He raised his hands placatingly as Sam glared at him. "I'm just sayin'!"

"You're so cynical of everything we try," Sam groused. "I'm beginning to think you _want _to get dragged to Hell."

"I already told you we'd check it out," Dean returned grumpily as he finished his burger. "We can go as soon as we finish this job. What's the name of the bar everyone keeps disappearing from?"

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks so much for reading! Please review! :)

Lauren


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone for the follows on the prologue! It really means a lot! :) I didn't mean for this update to take so long, but the second part of this chapter just didn't want to flow. It happens. =/ I hope you enjoy this next chapter! I'd love to hear some feedback on it! Thanks so much for reading! :D

Lauren

* * *

**Chapter One**

Two lanes of empty highway, flanked by woodlands, stretched out as far as the eye could see. It was like Oz's brick road to the black Impala that raced over the asphalt, searching for new adventures. Inside the car, old rock music that would be just as fitting in some run-down biker bar struggled to drown out the heavy thrum of the engine. Loud, slightly off-key singing nearly drowned out the music itself until the ringing of a cell phone caused Dean to reach over and turn down the music as his younger brother fumbled for his phone.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam finally said as he picked up the ringing phone and, recognizing the name flashing on the screen, put it to his ear.

_Hey. How'd that job go? You boys make it out okay?_

"Yeah, we're alright," Sam replied, setting his elbow against the passenger door and settling in for the conversation with the aging hunter that had provided information on a number of the brothers' hunts. "Gordon turned up looking for me. Turned vamp and tried to kill us. He's dead."

_It was bound to happen sooner or later with the way he was gunnin' after you boys. _Sam noticed Bobby didn't seem surprised or particularly grieved at this revelation. _Guy was a fanatic. Any idea where you're headed to next?_

"We got a tip back in Massachusetts that might help with Dean's deal," Sam said, looking down at the map sprawled across his lap. "So we're headed to New York."

_That's convenient._ Suspicion leaked into Bobby's voice, piquing Sam's interest.

"Why?"

_I had a guy come by last night_, Bobby began with a sigh._ Said he was a hunter. I'd never seen or heard of him before, but he handled a belt of holy water just fine. He said he'd heard about a hunter that might be able to help with Dean's deal, but didn't say how he or the other hunter even knew about the deal. Thought it was pretty strange, but I know you guys are picking up any lead you can, so I figured I'd let you know._

"That _is_ weird," Sam agreed, motioning for Dean to hand him a pen. "We'll look into it. Did he give the other hunter's name or a meeting place or anything?"

_Yeah. Jack Lovell is the hunter's name, _Bobby returned, and Sam scribbled the name on a napkin he grabbed from the Impala's glove-box as Dean handed him the requested writing utensil. _And he should be in Carrollton, Missouri._

"Jack Lovell. Carrollton, Missouri," Sam repeated as he wrote. "Got it. Thanks, Bobby."

_You boys just be careful,_ Bobby warned_. I_ _dunno what it was, but there was something I didn't like about that guy._

"We will," Sam returned. "We'll talk to you soon."

"So what'd Bobby want?" Dean inquired, glancing over at Sam as he hung up the phone. "A new hunt?"

"Not quite," Sam returned, beginning to trace lines on the well-worn map.

"Then what?" Dean reached out to take the napkin Sam had written on, switching his gaze between the highway and the writing until he'd fully deciphered Sam's untidy scrawl. "What's in Missouri?"

"Get this. Another hit on someone that might be able to help us with your deal."

"We just talked to the psychic yesterday," Dean replied, disbelief in his tone. "What are the odds of another hit already?!"

"I dunno." Sam shrugged and looked between Dean and the map. "Bobby said a hunter came in last night and that he knows a hunter named Jack in Missouri that might help."

"And? You think we should check it out?"

"I dunno. Bobby said he'd never heard of either hunter before. When that comes from Bobby, it's weird."

"Bobby knows everyone…or at least knows someone who knows someone else," Dean agreed. "So…we ignore it?"

"We can't afford to ignore it," Sam reasoned after a moment. "Even if it's a small chance, it's a chance." He leaned his head back against the Impala's bench seat and exhaled loudly as his brain churned over all of the information he'd absorbed over the past few days. "We look into it," he finally said. "After New York. But we be as careful as possible. In the meantime, I'll see if I can dig anything up on this Lovell guy. DMV, federal databases, the works. You check out dad's journal and see if he mentions him anywhere."

"And if we can't find anything?"

"I dunno, Dean. We take it one step at a time."

* * *

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Sam collapsed back on his bed, abandoning his laptop on his thighs as he sighed in frustration. His mind spun with all the codes and firewalls he'd hacked and bypassed in the past few hours, all to come up with a big, fat zero. Sam's stomach growled loudly, and he tried to remember if he'd eaten anything since he and Dean had stopped at a small diner for breakfast. As if on cue, the hotel room door swing open, revealing Dean with a six-pack of beer and two brown bags that looked like they came from the nearest fast food joint.

"Hey, Sammy! I got dinner!" Dean called as he strode in and tossed one of the bags in Sam's direction. "You find anything on our mystery hunter?"

"Nothing," Sam replied, frustration obvious in his tone as he sat up. "No records of a 'Jack Lovell' anywhere in the DMV or the federal databases. You find anything in dad's journal?"

"Well, nothing over a Jack Lovell," Dean admitted as he took a seat on his own bed, pulling their father's journal out of an inside pocket of his jacket and flipping it open to a page he'd marked with a piece of paper. "But there _is_ an entry over a James Lovell. Check this out."

Sam took the journal from Dean, realizing with a shake of his head that the makeshift bookmark was the receipt for the evening's dinner, and skimmed the page before going back over and reading it fully, his mind struggling to absorb what he was reading around everything else. "This was one of Dad's first hunts," Sam realized as he read.

"Yep," Dean confirmed. "James Lovell's wife went missing. Dad labeled it as a werewolf attack, but never found Lovell's wife or the wolf that did it. I called Bobby and asked about the guy. He said Lovell convinced Dad to tell him that the attack wasn't normal. Lovell went into hunting afterwards—specialized specifically in werewolves. He wasn't on the scene long, and he always insisted on working alone, but Bobby said he was one of the best: always seemed to know exactly where the wolves were and when would be the best time to go after them…"

"And?" Sam pressed as Dean trailed off and didn't seem to want to continue.

"And," Dean said with a heavy sigh, "he went missing almost twenty years ago. Bobby said he took a hunt and just never came back. Poof. Gone. Everyone figures he's dead."

"So he's most likely not our guy," Sam concluded, flipping the journal closed dejectedly.

"Probably not," Dean agreed with a shrug. "But Bobby did say he thought Lovell had kids. Maybe one of them has grown up and decided to fill daddy's shoes? It wouldn't be the first time that's happened in the hunting world." Dean gestured between himself and his brother. "Especially with how many monsters out there hold grudges."

"Even so," Sam argued, gesturing between his laptop and the journal as he continued. "Say this Jack person is this Lovell guy's son. There should be some kinda trace. A birth certificate, driver's license, something. But there's nothing. I've checked everything."

"Maybe 'Jack' is an alias," Dean pointed out. "We use them all the time. Maybe this guy is just good at covering his tracks."

"Maybe."

"C'mon, Sam! This was your idea." Dean handed Sam a beer before cracking his own open and pulling a cheeseburger out of his bag. "You still wanna check all this out?"

"I guess we have to." Sam sighed as Dean found the remote to the hotel TV and turned on a football game, settling in to his dinner. "If nothing else, we have to figure out who's impersonating a hunter and why…and how in Hell they know about your deal."

"That's the spirit, Sammy boy," Dean quipped. Sam rolled his eyes and fell back on the bed, not in the mood to battle his brother's antics. His mind continued to churn as he squeezed his eyes shut. Questions broiled and bubbled everywhere, the most pressing being how they were going to get Dean out of his deal. Sam had never liked questions with no answer. It was the main reason he'd chosen law as his major, after all. The name 'Lovell' kept spinning around Sam's brain, and he finally sat back up once again and turned his attention to his dinner, hoping to distract himself from all of the questions before him.

* * *

Pale sunlight filtered through the trees, casting long, thin shadows across a road flanked by a mix of manicured lawns and houses and woods with various vehicles lining the curbs on either side. People moved along the sidewalks beside these cars, some strolling along with friends, some rushing as though late for an appointment or class. Still others rode bicycles and skateboards, dodging around those on foot and leaving disgruntled peers in their wake. Through all this, two figures walked the sidewalk, their worn jeans & jackets contrasting with the polished and energetic co-eds around them, until they reached a boxy beige house trimmed in white, situated on a corner and surrounded by carefully-manicured bushes.

"There it is," the taller of the two figures stated, turning to glance at a white SUV that turned into the driveway of the house. "Theta house. Built in 1900 and home to the Iota chapter of Kappa Alpha Theta."

"Classy," the other young man quipped, raising an eyebrow at the scalloped edging of the roof and large bay window." A bit too flashy in my opinion." He took a step toward the house before the taller figure reached out and pulled him to a stop.

"Dean, you can't just knock on the door and ask to see the place," he scolded. "Sororities have rules and tradition. Most sororities have a rule about guys in the houses."

"Well then what are we supposed to do, Sam?" Dean demanded impatiently. "We don't exactly have time to burn and we didn't come all this way just to look at it."

Sam shrugged, at a loss for ideas, until glancing over his brother's shoulder to where an older woman in a powder blue business suit was unloading sacks of groceries from the SUV that had pulled into the driveway. "I've got an idea. C'mon."

* * *

Dean slipped out of the large and well-outfitted kitchen quietly, leaving his brother to keep the Theta House Mother occupied while he explored for anything that might possibly give him and Sam an idea of what the psychic they'd met had meant by her drawing. Dean couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he pulled his familiar homemade EMF meter out of his pocket, scanning the walls and hallways carefully. Sam's improvisation had gone off without a hitch, the House Mother needing only one glance at the younger Winchester's puppy-dog eyes and disarming smile before accepting the boys' help carrying groceries into the sorority house. Sam had then given his brother a quick nod before distracting the House Mother with the seemingly innocent inquiry into how long the prim and proper matron had been affiliated with the sorority, allowing Dean the chance to slip away while Sam continued carrying in groceries and questioning the House Mother.

Dean stepped through the halls quietly, watching his EMF meter for even the smallest blip of red light, but found the machine stone silent. The chocolate carpet silenced his footsteps as he climbed the stairs to the second floor, briefly glancing over the pictures of past generations of Theta sisters before continuing in his quest for any sign of the supernatural in the house. The hallways were deserted, and Dean supposed all the building's tenants must have been away at class, making his job easier, if a lot less fun. His EMF meter still remaining dead as he turned down the last hallway, Dean rolled his head back and sighed in frustration as any semblance of hope that something meaningful would be found slipped away. He opened his eyes and moved to continue down the corridor, but paused as a glint of gold above the nearest door caught his attention.

Crossing the hall in two quick strides, Dean reached up and ran a finger over the sunken-in symbols carved into the wood over the door and painted with gold. A sharp breath hissed into Dean's lungs as he realized he recognized the picture, and he immediately moved from door to door, abandoning his EMF meter and checking for the symbol, cataloging the room numbers as he found three more such signs. Satisfied that his search had gone as far as it could for the time being, as well as that he'd been gone long enough, Dean traced his way back downstairs, eager to find his brother and relate what he'd discovered.

* * *

"What are the odds that a house as old as that would have absolutely zero EMF readings? Even in the daytime?" Sam thought aloud as he and his brother merged with the crowd on the sidewalk, putting Theta house at their backs as they made their way back to the Impala.

"Probably about the same as you getting a random sorority girl's number because she thought it was cute that you helped an old lady with her groceries," Dean returned sarcastically, grabbing his brother's hand and holding it out palm-up so he could see the name and number scrawled in purple pen across the pale flesh. "Kelli, huh? Even dotted her 'I' with a heart. Adorable."

"Shut up," Sam returned, jerking his hand back from his brother. "So did you find anything other than the lack of EMF?"

"I did, actually," Dean informed as the pair reached the familiar hulking black form of the Impala and slid inside. "Nothing particularly pertaining to our psychic doodle, but it might explain why there wasn't any EMF. Four of the doors upstairs had Eyes of Horus carved into the threshold and painted over with gold. Just four. I checked. And then I noticed another over the main doorway when sweet Ms. Billings let us out and gushed about how there just weren't enough men like adorable little Sammy in the world anymore." Dean reached over to mockingly pinch his brother's cheeks, laughing as Sam swatted his hand away.

"'Eyes of Horus?'" Sam quoted, staying focused on the current task. "Those are Egyptian symbols…symbols said to"—

"Ward off evil spirits," Dean finished. "I'd bet there's more over the back entrance we came in…maybe even any windows in those bedrooms that had them. Someone didn't want any spirits in that house or those rooms."

"You think it could be related to the psychic's drawing?"

"I dunno," Dean replied honestly. "But I know a way we can find out." He scooped up Sam's cell phone where it had been abandoned on the middle seat of the Impala and handed it to his brother. "Call this Kelli girl," he commanded in answer to his brother's questioning stare. "Ask her to meet you for coffee or whatever college kids do for dates. Those carvings were painted over. People knew they were there. See if she knows where they came from and who made them."

"So you want me to use her for information?"

"Well, what you do after that is your own business, Sam," Dean said with a wink as he started the Impala and pulled away from the curb. Sam shook his head, choosing not to comment as he looked at the number scrawled on his hand and began hitting the corresponding buttons on his phone's keypad.

* * *

"Hey! Sam, right?"

Sam turned away from a wall bedecked with various pictures that traced the history of Cornell athletics, meeting a smiling brunette in jeans and a pristine white pea coat trimmed with a purple scarf and gloves that were currently being pulled from delicate hands. Sam swallowed hard as he took in the soft curls, doe eyes, and bee-stung lips of the young woman before him, suddenly thinking this hadn't been such a good idea. Dating had never been his thing; he'd long ago decided that getting a second date with Jess had been an act of God, and it wasn't like there was much time to practice with all the town-jumping he and his brother did. Dean's 'New town, new girl' philosophy, though Sam wouldn't begrudge his older brother his well-deserved fun, quite simply wasn't as appealing to Sam. _Act natural_, he ordered himself, nervously running a hand through his hair as the woman stood waiting patiently.

"That's me," Sam finally confirmed as his large hand enveloped the brunette's slender fingers in a gentle handshake. "And that must make you Kelli."

"Guilty as charged," Kelli returned with a soft chuckle before nodding her head toward the wall Sam had turned from. "Brushing up on the history of Cornell athletics? Excellent idea for someone looking at becoming a student here."

"I guess I'm guilty, too," Sam noted as he was reminded of the cover story he'd spun at the sorority house that afternoon. A student scouting out law schools was much more believable a reason to be roaming Cornell's campus than a guy and his brother hunting monsters, after all.

Kelli laughed again as she pulled her scarf from her neck, a soft, amused sound Sam found delightful and much more bearable than the high-pitched squeals he'd grown accustomed to hearing in the bars he and his brother frequented. "Just be sure to check out the hockey games. They're the big thing around here. Remember 'Let's go, Red!' and 'Fight! Maim! Kill!' and learn the rules for the cowbell and jangling your keys and you'll be fine."

"Hockey fan, huh?"

"A girl's gotta find something to cling to when she played hockey from the time she was old enough to balance on her own skates and ended up going all-academic on scholarships because of a broken wrist," Kelli said with a shrug.

"You? Played hockey?" Sam was genuinely surprised as he ran a cursory glance over the slight figure before him. "You don't really seem the type."

Kelli laughed again. "Things change. People move on. Now I just stick with the Faithful, throwing newspapers on the ice and jingling my car keys when it's time. What about you?"

"I went through a soccer phase when I was a kid," Sam admitted with a smile. "Nothing serious, though." He glanced over Kelli's shoulder to see the coffee shop's counter devoid of customers and gestured toward it. "Shall we?"

* * *

It was quite late by the time Sam returned to his and his brother's hotel room, and Sam would be quick to admit he was surprised to find his brother still awake, a beer in his hand and his eyes quick to leave the television as his younger brother waltzed in.

"Well, well. You are coming in awfully late, Sammy-boy," Dean called from where he reclined against the headboard. "I'm guessing your date with Christi went well."

"Kelli," Sam corrected, sliding his jacket from his shoulders. "And it did go well. We went ice skating."

"_You_ know how to ice skate?" Dean asked incredulously, cocking an eyebrow as his brother crossed the tacky carpet to the duffel bag deposited on his bed and began digging through the contents. "Since when?"

"I didn't," Sam corrected his brother. "Kelli taught me."

"I thought you were going for coffee?"

"We did go for coffee. Then we went ice skating. Then we went for drinks. Then I walked her back to Theta house."

"You were gone for seven hours, Sammy," Dean noted. "You must have had an excellent time at Theta house." Dean waggled his brows suggestively at his little brother as he leaned forward and slid his legs over the side of his bed to sit facing Sam.

"I didn't sleep with her, Dean," Sam returned with an exasperated sigh as he pulled sweatpants and a wrinkled t-shirt from his duffel and set them on the bed.

"Why not?!" Dean demanded as though the idea of Sammy failing to score was an insult to his own pride as the older brother. "She was cute!"

"You know, Dean, some women have enough sense of self respect not to sleep with a guy they've known for less than twenty-four hours."

"Those are the women I typically try to avoid," Dean replied easily as he took a swig from his beer. "They're far too much work." Sam simply rolled his eyes and shook his head, too used to his brother's antics to even attempt correcting him. "So, if you didn't sleep with her, you must've had plenty of time to talk to her," Dean observed after a moment in which Sam had found his toiletries and deposited them with his change of clothes by his duffel.

"That I did. We talked about a lot of things," Sam returned. "Kelli is a biology major from here in New York. She graduates in December and has been accepted to continue her studies here at Cornell Med to be a pediatric cardiologist. Her favorite color is purple, she played hockey in high school, she has two little brothers, and her parents are lawyers."

"And…?" Dean huffed impatiently as he waited for Sam to get to the part he actually cared about.

"And…she has no idea where the Eyes of Horus came from."

"So this whole trip was a waste of time?!" Dean demanded, standing from his bed as his brows drew together in frustration. "Well isn't that friggin' fantastic?!"

"Not quite," Sam amended as he sat on the bed by his duffel, meeting his brother's gaze before slouching over to reach the laces on his boots. "She said the Eyes have been around for awhile, but they weren't painted gold until 2002. That someone had carved them into the thresholds and then painted over them so as not to get charged for vandalism, but the paint kept scratching away. A pledge class spun it into some kinda legend about one of the sisters back in the day being all into the occult and carving them to ward off evil spirits because she was afraid. Put them over all the main entrances and windows and the doors to the rooms she stayed in over her time at the University. It became such a big deal the House Mother finally ordered the Eyes painted gold—she figured it'd be better to embrace the legend than try to avoid it."

"And how is that supposed to make this trip worthwhile?" Dean wasn't following his brother's logic. Some psychic had sent them scurrying to New York just to find nothing and Sam thought that was a good thing?

"Because it means, if the psychic was pointing us toward a person and not the sorority in general, we aren't looking for a current student," Sam explained patiently. "We're looking for an alumna."

"But didn't you say there were hundreds of thousands of alumni all across the country? That doesn't exactly narrow it down, Sam!"

"But it does," Sam said with a wide grin.

Dean halted the argument he was about to spew as he caught that grin. Dean hadn't seen a smile like that on Sam's face in a long time. Sam was genuinely excited about whatever it was he had found. "How?" Dean decided to ask instead, holding his breath as he waited for Sam's answer.

"Kelli told me about the dorms with Eyes carved in them. The room numbers you memorized? If the legend is based in truth"—

"Which, we assume, all legends are," Dean cut in.

-"Then the person we're looking for served as Iota chapter President of Kappa Alpha Theta." Sam continued at Dean's look of continued confusion. "One of the rooms marked with an Eye is the private quarters of the chapter President. And we know the Eyes were carved before 2002. But the sorority didn't even take up residence in Theta house until 1980."

"So…" Dean began as the pieces slowly clicked together in his mind. "If we're looking for a chapter President, it's gonna be between those years…that narrows us down to what? Twenty people tops?"

"Roughly," Sam confirmed.

"So…now what?"

"Now, I take a shower," Sam began. "We get some sleep, then we head to Missouri after Bobby's lead. If we're looking for a Cornell Theta alum, they could be anywhere in the country, so it doesn't make any sense to stick around here. We do some research along the way and try to narrow down the field of people to check into, probably run 'em by Bobby and see if he knows anything in particular, and whoever's left we look up. See if we can find one that can help with your deal."

"That seems like a lot of work," Dean pouted. "Especially over some stupid drawing."

"Better than sitting around waiting for your time to run out," Sam pointed out as he made for the motel room's tiny bathroom. "Besides, this feels right for some reason."

As Sam shut the bathroom door behind him and started the water in the shower, he surveyed himself in the mirror, noting the shadows under his eyes. These past few months had been Hell on him. He couldn't let his brother end up spending eternity in the pit. Not because of him. He hadn't been lying when he'd said this course of action they were on felt right. Maybe it was just because they actually had a plan that involved more than simply chasing down run-of-the-mill monsters until Dean's contract came due, but Sam felt like things were looking up. It might be the last thing they did, but he and Dean would beat this deal.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Please review!

Lauren


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N:** Thanks so much for the follows and favorites on the last chapter! It means a lot to me! I'd love to hear some feedback from you guys, though, so feel free to drop a review! I promise I don't bite! :) Also, I've made a trailer for this story on YouTube that I'd love for you to check out, as well as a Photobucket album that will hopefully help you get a better picture of some things over the course of the story. The links to both of those are on my profile, and I'd love for you guys to check them out! :D

Hope you enjoy the next chapter! :)

Lauren

* * *

**Chapter Two**

"So this is Carrollton, Missouri?"

Dean's head was on a swivel as he pulled the Impala off of State Highway 65 and onto a street flanked on either side by parallel-parked vehicles, an expanse of sidewalk on which a few citizens in various attires—many featuring flannel, overalls, and boots—wandered, and lines of run-down shops. A stone courthouse stood in the center of a classic town square trimmed with landscaped greenery. He squinted against the harsh glare of the evening sun as he looked out over the shops. "Did we just wander into Mayberry? I think I hear banjos."

"Wrong state, Dean," Sam replied, glancing up before returning to the map in his lap. "Seems like the kinda small town a hunter would use to hole up and stay inconspicuous. Swing a left up here."

"Why?"

"The Mason Motel," Sam said simply. "Seems like as good a place as any to set up camp 'til we track down this Jack guy."

Dean shrugged before taking the aforementioned left, following Sam's directions to pull up in front of a long, low white building lined with green doors decorated with brass numbers. The boys seamlessly fell into the accustomed routine, Dean heading for the main office to get a room for the night while Sam unloaded what they'd need from the Impala. By the time Sam had everything unpacked, Dean was back out to help carry everything into their room, a phone book clutched in one hand.

The boys' room for the evening was nothing they weren't accustomed to: sparse but clean, two beds against one wall, a bathroom and closet to one side, a small table and chairs in a corner, and a coffee maker perched atop a microwave perched atop a mini fridge standing beside the entertainment center that held the TV. Sam tuned out Dean's complaints about a lack of Magic Fingers as he flipped through the white pages of the phone book his brother had swiped from the main office, stopping to survey the 'L' page.

"No 'Lovells' are listed in the entire county according to this phone book," Sam noted, interrupting his brother's tirade.

"Well, then, we'll just have to do some digging," Dean returned. "And I know just the place."

Sam rolled his eyes as he looked up at the mischevious grin covering his brother's face as the older Winchester nodded and raised his eyebrows imploringly. This should be interesting.

* * *

"Why does your solution to finding people always involves visiting a bar?" Sam groused as he and Dean slipped into place at a small two-person table in a corner.

The main bar in Carrollton seemed to be the typical backwoods smoke-and-whiskey joint, the air hazy as some old country music played from a corner jukebox that was far past its prime. The bar wasn't busy by any means, though the boys hadn't truly expected it to be on a Wednesday night. A handful of people milled around two pool tables across the bar from where the Winchesters sat, and another handful, mostly older men, perched along the bar where two women tended the few orders. A few people scattered around tables and a single couple two-stepping on the tiny dance floor rounded out the evening's patrons, making for a quiet evening.

"Because bartenders know everything and everyone," Dean declared as one of the women moved in their direction, flipping a towel over her shoulder. "Especially in this small of a town."

"What can I get you boys?" the bartender asked as she reached their table, hooking her thumbs through the belt loops on a pair of low-riding jeans, winking at Dean as he threw an appreciative glance over the curves the jeans and black tank top failed to hide.

"Two beers," Dean said quickly. "El Sol if you've got it, anything domestic if you don't."

"Anythin' else?"

"Nothing on the menu," Dean returned with a wink of his own, causing Sam to roll his eyes as the woman laughed.

"Comin' right up," the brunette promised before turning and heading back to the bar.

"Dude," Sam protested, snapping his fingers in front of Dean's face as his brother's eyes followed the departure of the curvy bartender.

Dean snapped his gaze back to Sam's with a look of annoyance. "What?"

"We aren't here for you to make eyes with the bartender."

"Oh, come on, Sam," Dean returned. "Lighten up. You're allowed to have fun, remember? I bet she has a friend."

"I'm more interested in the fact that we don't know where to go from here," Sam informed his older brother. "We're in Carrollton, but all we have is a name that most likely isn't even the person's actual name. How are we supposed to find this person and see if he can help with your deal?"

"One step at a time, Sammy-boy." Dean looked away from his brother as the bartender returned with a tray holding their drinks.

"Here ya go, boys," she said sweetly, unloading two glass bottles onto the small table. "Ya need anythin' else, you just let me know."

"Actually," Dean began before the bartender had a chance to move away, leaning forward conspiratorily. "Maybe you could help us out. We're in town lookin' to surprise a friend. We don't know their address, but we don't wanna call and ruin the surprise."

"Who ya lookin' for?" The woman returned with a confident smile. "I know everyone 'round here."

"Jack Lovell."

Sam noticed the woman's face seemed to change, her smile seeming to droop slightly. "I don't hear that name from out-of-towners very often," she noted, one hand on her hip while the other came to rest atop the boys' table. "You said y'all are friends?"

"Yeah," Sam put in quickly. "We went to school together back in the day."

"You know who we're talking about?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Of course," the bartender stated, causing Dean to send a smug grin in Sam's direction. "Everyone knows Jack! Here's what you need to do if you're wantin' it to be a surprise." The brunette pulled a pen from the back pocket of her jeans and grabbed Dean's hand. "Head over to the Main Street Restaurant first thing in the morning," she instructed as she wrote. "Before nine or so would probably be best. Sit at the bar and order some coconut crème pie, and then ask for Jack."

"Thank you very much," Sam replied as the woman seemed to finish whatever she was writing on Dean's hand.

"And if you still have some time when you get finished visiting with Jack," the brunette continued, seeming to speak only to Dean as she batted her lashes, "feel free to give me a call." She smiled again before turning to leave the brothers to their drinks. Sam brought his beer to his lips with a shake of his head as Dean grinned and triumphantly showed his younger brother the name and number scrawled across his palm.

* * *

The Main Street Restaurant turned out to be just what the name suggested: a small diner situated on Main Street within full view of both the courthouse and main bank. Black and white tiles checkered the floor, blending with the white walls decorated in old records and pictures of long-gone stars. The back wall, however, burned candy apple red, decorated with more recent awards and pictures with a serving window giving a small glimpse into the kitchen. Red booths and black tables lined the walls, while smaller tables filled the center of the café, leading to the bar that cut across the room, preventing access to the kitchen by anyone but employees. An ancient jukebox sat in the corner, playing an Elvis song.

"Well, this is cute," Dean noted as he and Sam wandered in. "Maybe our waitress will be wearing a poodle skirt and running around on roller skates."

Sam couldn't seem to find a comment, moving resolutely toward the restaurant's bar as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. The restaurant was empty other than a few older gentlemen sitting in a booth and sipping their coffee, chatting about whatever it was old men gossiped about. Sliding onto the red leather stool beside his younger brother, Dean's eyes widened with glee as he spotted a glass case on the end of the bar that was full of what seemed to be every pie imaginable.

"Good morning," came the chipper voice of a bright-eyed waitress perhaps only a few years older than the brothers—lacking a poodle skirt or roller skates, Dean noted—as she set menus in front of the boys, pulling a notepad out of an apron pocket. "Can I get you boys some coffee this morning?"

"That would be fantastic," Sam said before flipping his menu open. "Black. Sugar for me, please."

"Make that two, Marci," Dean said as he glanced at the woman's nametag. "Hey, how are you guys' pies?"

"Best in the tri-county area," Marci returned with pride and a wide smile. "All homemade by the owners."

"Could I get a slice of coconut crème, please?" Dean requested, remembering the bartender's suggestion from the night before.

"Of course," the waitress affirmed, turning away just to come back a moment later with two cups of coffee resting on saucers before she moved to the case of pies. Dean's mouth watered as the woman perfectly sliced a large piece, setting the plate before him. "Anything else for you boys?"

"We're good for now, thank you," Sam said quickly. "But could you tell us if Jack Lovell is here?"

"Who's asking?" the woman inquired curiously, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

"I'm Steve Miller," Dean spun off the top of his head, clapping Sam on the shoulder. "And this is my brother Tyler. We're friends of Jack's from school and were told this would be the best place to meet."

"Umm…hold on just a minute," Marci requested before briskly turning and striding into the kitchen. Sam looked to his brother with an 'I don't know' expession and a shrug before averting his attention to his coffee.

Dean copied his brother's shrug, taking a large bite of his pie as they waited for the waitress to return. "Oh God," Dean practically moaned as his taste buds registered the heaven that was the pie sitting in front of him. Sam looked over, quirking his brows in an incredulous expression. "This pie is delicious," Dean gushed in explanation, scooping a bite onto his fork and holding it out to his brother. "Wanna bite?"

"No, I'm good," Sam returned, leaning away slightly. "Knock yourself out." Dean seemed to think for a moment before shrugging and returning to the pie before him, having the plate clean before the waitress finally returned from the kitchen.

"Well, I just got off the phone with Jack," Marci explained as she stopped before them and freshened the boys' coffee from the carafe she held. "You boys just missed her. She's usually here 'til nine, but she left early to run a few errands. She said she'd be back by to meet you guys if you could just hold on for twenty minutes or so."

"Sounds good to me," Dean agreed as he took a sip of his coffee, his brother nodding beside him.

"In the meantime," Marci began, pulling her notepad from her apron once again, "she said to get you boys a proper breakfast. Whatever you want; on the house."

The boys shared a surprised glance. "In that case," Dean began, never one to turn down free food, "I'll have the special: eggs scrambled, bacon, and biscuits & gravy instead of toast."

"Shortstack for me," Sam added. "Side of sausage."

The waitress had taken their menus, turned in their orders, and left the bar to check on the old men and their coffee when something she had said clicked in Sam's mind and he turned to his brother, for whom the same comment seemed to have registered as he looked over with eyebrows raised, eyes widened, and mouth slightly open. "Did she just say 'she'?" Dean demanded.

"It would explain why I couldn't find anything," Sam noted. "I was looking for a guy."

"Dean locked gazes with his brother for a moment, the gears turning in his head. "Son of a bitch."

* * *

A little more than twenty minutes later, Sam and Dean were nearly through their breakfasts and their third cups of coffee, still pondering the identity of the apparently female 'Jack' they were supposed to be meeting, when the ringing of the bell over the door signaled someone coming into the diner. Sam had been mentally creating a rather short list of female names 'Jack' could be a nickname for when a roar of greetings from the group of coffee-drinking elders in the corner of the diner scattered his thoughts, leading him to turn to see what the commotion was about just in time to be wrapped in a loose hug.

"Tyler!" cried a positively female voice that issued from the form wrapping its arms around him, and Sam had barely time to stiffen from the unexpected contact before he was released, catching a glimpse of blonde before his brother was receiving the same surprising treatment. "Steven! It's so good to see you guys!"

Sam shrugged at his wide-eyed brother as the elder Winchester awkwardly returned the hug he was receiving. "Jack?" Sam said, trying and failing to hide the question in his voice as he decided to play along with this stranger. "It's good to see you, too."

The woman pulled away from Dean, finally giving Sam a good look at their possible savior, but the glimpse, if anything, only left him more confused. 'Jack' was petite, and Sam knew he'd tower over her once he stood up. Blonde hair framed a carefully made-up, square face, wide-set blue eyes, a straight nose, and full lips spread in a wide smile, falling in gentle waves to shoulders clad in a billowy, feminine purple shirt. Long legs sheathed in distressed blue jeans ended in black boots, completing the picture that failed to fit any hunter Sam had ever met or heard of. Hunters typically attempted to stay inconspicuous and nondescript, enabling them to stay off the radar, but the woman standing before the Winchesters was neither of these, looking as though she'd be more comfortable on the set of a photo shoot than in the midst of a nest of vampires or digging up a spirit's grave. A glimpse sideways revealed that Dean was just as stumped as anyone else as they both surveyed this woman who could be no older than they themselves.

"God, what's it been?" Jack continued, falling in with the boys' ruse easily. "Five years? Almost six?" Both boys could only nod, still confused as to how and why this woman was playing along instead of revealing she had no clue as to who the Winchesters were. "I hope you guys have been behaving yourselves and not driving Marci completely crazy. Lord knows she has enough to deal with without adding you two to the list!" Jack threw a conspiring wink at the boys before directing her attention to the diner's waitress, who quickly assured the blonde that the boys had been no trouble at all.

"Well, if you boys are about finished, you can follow me out to my house and get outta Marci's hair," Jack continued, glimpsing the nearly-empty plates the boys had abandoned on the bar as she raised a finely-shaped eyebrow in a suggestive glance.

"That is a great idea," Dean finally said, clapping Sam on the shoulder as the younger Winchester could do little more than open and close his mouth, resembling a fish out of water as he struggled to come up with a proper reply. Go with the stranger who was playing along for some reason and may or may not be a hunter with the secret to getting out of Dean's deal? Or high-tail it out of town before said stranger called the police over the two stalkers claiming to be friends? Apparently, Dean was going for the first option.

"You know what to do with their bill, Marci," Jack stated as the boys stood from the barstools, leaving her suddenly feeling quite small as they both loomed a full head and shoulders over her on either side.

"Of course," Marci affirmed, a cheerful smile gracing her lips as she scooped up the boys' dishes. "See you tomorrow, Jack!" With that, Jack simply turned and headed for the entrance to the small diner, expecting the Winchesters to follow as she cast a friendly smile and departing wave at the table of coffee-drinkers before stepping out into the crisp autumn air.

"So," the woman began with a warm smile as she spun, walking backwards down the middle of the small-town sidewalk so she could see the boys as she spoke. "I assume you guys are in that ancient Impala over there since it's the only vehicle I don't know." Ignoring the appalled look Dean sent her way, Jack tossed her head to her left where the Impala sat parallel to the curb between two trucks before gesturing back to her right, following the line of parked vehicles. "I'm in the Jeep over there. Follow me and try to keep up." Without giving the boys a chance to reply, the blonde turned and set a brisk pace toward a gleaming red Jeep Liberty, leaving Sam and Dean to exchange raised eyebrows and bewilderment before they made for the Impala.

"Don't listen to her, baby," Dean cooed as he slid behind the wheel, Sam keeping an eye on the red Jeep as both engines growled to life. "You're not 'ancient.' You look amazing for your age."

"Do I need to give you two a minute?" Sam asked as his brother ran a loving hand around the steering wheel. "Cuz…Jack just swung a left at the corner."

"Nope, I'm good," Dean returned, immediately shifting the Impala into gear and guiding it away from the curb to follow the Jeep out of town.

A few minutes later, the Winchesters were following the fire engine Jeep down a dusty Missouri back road Dean complaining about what the rutted roads were doing to his car while Sam struggled to keep the SUV in sight through the cloud of dust billowing behind it. Finally, they turned off the dirt roadway to follow the Jeep up a gravel driveway that circled a long and low two-story ranch-style house of brick in various shades of brown and tan, ending at matching white garage doors that synced with the house's trim. The red Jeep pulled up and into the garage as one of the doors slid open, and Dean pulled the Impala up in the driveway.

"This is way too Stepford for a hunter," Dean declared as he killed the engine, keeping his eyes trained on the SUV ahead of him as the woman they'd met slid from the driver's seat before burying her torso back in her vehicle.

"I was thinking the same thing," Sam agreed from the passenger seat.

"So what do you think?" Dean asked. "It's not too late to turn around and head outta town."

Sam exhaled loudly, laying his head on the seat-back before turning to look at Dean. "We talk to her. She played along for a reason. We just keep our eyes open. Leave the minute things get suspicious."

Dean shrugged his agreement, reaching over and opening his door as Sam climbed from the car. "I feel like I'm gonna regret this," Dean muttered to himself as he slammed the car door closed behind him, striding to join Sam at the front of the car.

Shrugging, Sam moved toward the open garage door where their hostess had disappeared before freezing as loud barking issued from the garage. With no warning, Sam found himself on the ground, a large bloodhound's paws pressing his chest to the ground. He craned his neck to see Dean in much the same predicament, pinned to the hood of the Impala by a bloodhound reared on its hind legs.

"Uh…Sam? I think I'd call this a little more than suspicious!" Dean choked, dread stabbing his gut at the sight of the snarling, drooling fangs bared mere inches from his throat. Before managing to come up with a decent reply, Sam quickly returned his gaze forward, staring over the shoulder of his own canine attacker as he heard the all too familiar click of a gun being cocked.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! I'd love to see some reviews to let me know what y'all think! :)

Lauren


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N:** Thanks soo much for all the follows on this story! It really means a lot! I'd love to see a few reviews, though! Y'all's thoughts on the story as it progresses are really important to me! Also, the links to the trailer and photo album I've made for this story are in my profile if you haven't checked them out yet. The photo album will be updated periodically as new settings and places are introduced. I'll let you know in each chapter if anything has been added for that chapter. Thanks again for reading & I hope you enjoy this next chapter! :)

Lauren

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Previously…

"_I feel like I'm gonna regret this," Dean muttered to himself as he slammed the car door closed behind him, striding to join Sam at the front of the car._

_Shrugging, Sam moved toward the open garage door where their hostess had disappeared before freezing as loud barking issued from the garage. With no warning, Sam found himself on the ground, a large bloodhound's paws pressing his chest to the ground. He craned his neck to see Dean in much the same predicament, pinned to the hood of the Impala by a bloodhound reared on its hind legs. _

"_Uh…Sam? I think I'd call this a little more than suspicious!" Dean choked, dread stabbing his gut at the sight of the snarling, drooling fangs bared mere inches from his throat. Before managing to come up with a decent reply, Sam quickly returned his gaze forward, staring over the shoulder of his own canine attacker as he heard the all too familiar click of a gun being cocked._

* * *

A trigger flipped in Sam's brain as he lay on the ground, a massive dog pinning him in the dust and the threat of being shot looming overheard. It was strange how that could happen; even while his heart raced with adrenaline, his mind calmly filtered through and processed the information it was provided. Though his breath hitched with worry, the synapses in his brain clicked back and forth as though nothing was wrong, allowing him to progress through the sight before him and translate it into the proper reaction.

Jack, or 'the woman' as Sam preferred to think of the blonde, due to the fact that they had no assurance she was who she claimed to be—especially since she currently had him and his brother at gunpoint, stood a few paces away, a pistol leveled in the brothers' direction. In its analytical state, Sam's brain was able to notice that Jack stood with her feet square, both hands supporting the weapon she held, indicating that she'd done this before and shouldn't be trifled with. Sam's mind insisted that at this range there was no way she'd miss if she decided to fire. It also noticed that, while there was no obvious hesitation in the woman's movement and her breathing remained steady, the muscles in her jaw were clenched, indicating uncertainty with what she was doing.

"What the hell is this?!" Dean demanded from where he remained pinned against the hood of his car, grimacing at the drool dripping from his attacker's snout as he glared in the woman's general direction.

"Hey! You two came looking for me," the woman returned, tossing her head back as the breeze pushed her hair across her face. "I ask the questions."

"Alright, alright," Sam returned, raising his hands in surrender as both dogs growled at the fierce inflection in their owner's voice. "Take it easy. We're obviously not going anywhere."

"Who are you?!" Jack demanded. "And don't give me that crap you fed Marci. Steven and Tyler Miller?! I have to say I've definitely never heard Steve Miller and Steven Tyler jammed together like that—it's mildly impressive."

"Please, just calm down," Sam pleaded as the blonde's hands tightened on her gun. "I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean. We're not here to hurt you."

"Winchester?" Jack returned skeptically. "Yeah. And I'm Remington. That dog on your chest is Smith and her brother over there is Wesson." Jack shrugged after gesturing at each dog. "Need I mention my crazy great-aunt Beretta? Or are you gonna can the crap and tell me who you are?"

"Make fun of it all you want, sister," Dean growled, his frustration only growing as the dog on his chest returned his growl low in its own throat. "It ain't gonna change, so I suggest you let us up."

"And I suggest you keep your trap shut," the blonde returned through clenched teeth.

"Well, why don't you just"—

"Please," Sam began, cutting through his brother's words before he could say something that would only further frustrate the woman before them. "We're not lying. Just let us up and we can explain everything."

"No, you can just explain everything right there in the dirt, Mr. Winchester," Jacqueline returned. "Now what in the hell are you doing here?"

"Bobby Singer sent us," Sam informed the woman quickly, trying to ignore the growing pain caused by the various rocks digging into his spine. "Said you could help us."

"I don't know a Bobby Singer," Jack returned, her eyebrows drawing together as she processed Sam's words.

"And that's our fault?!" Dean protested, groaning at the way his back arched uncomfortably to reach his car hood thanks to the paws on his chest.

"Quite frankly, I don't like you so far," Jack stated simply, focusing a glower on the bit of Dean she could see around her bloodhound. "You're lucky I don't just let Glendon take a bite out of you right now, so I suggest you shut up and let your brother do the talking. He's doing a better job so far."

"Look, Bobby sent us," Sam began, again diverting the blonde's attention away from Dean. "But he said it was another hunter that told him you could help us."

"You're lying!" Jack insisted, tightening her grip on her weapon. "I don't work with other hunters."

"Please, Jack," Sam began as Dean started to protest behind him, a sudden realization leaping to the forefront of his mind. "If you were gonna shoot us you would've done it already," he reasoned, again raising his hands beseechingly. "You wouldn't even be giving us a chance to explain."

"Maybe I just wanna make sure who I'm shooting," Jack replied, frustration showing in her face on being called on bluffing.

"If you knew you were gonna shoot, you wouldn't have put your dogs in harm's way." Sam shrugged as the woman quirked a finely-shaped eyebrow at him, as though congratulating him on his reasoning. "Just give us five minutes to talk to you. After that, we'll happily leave if you want us to."

"Very happily," Dean added.

"Fine," Jack agreed after a moment of thought, lowering her gun to her side, a tell-tale snap indicating she'd released the hammer on the pistol. "Five minutes." With that, she brought her free hand up to her mouth, slipping her fingers between her teeth to release a loud, shrill whistle that had both of the enormous bloodhounds releasing their captives to bound to their owner's side. She crouched down in front of them, rubbing their ears as their long tongues traced the sides of her face and congratulating them on their ruse.

"That was ridiculous," Dean hissed lowly as he came up beside Sam, straightening his jacket as Sam struggled to brush the dirt off his clothes, simply happy to not be on the ground at the mercy of Jack's intimidating hounds.

"The best part is they never would've hurt you," Jack quipped as she stood to fully face the boys, the bloodhounds sitting obediently on each side of her. "They look terrifying, but they wouldn't hurt a fly." She lowered a hand to scratch the one on her left's ears as it leaned into her leg. She then sighed and looked between the two men towering in front of her. "So, are you still gonna stick to being Winchesters?"

"Yeah," Sam returned with a curious half-smile. "Why didn't you wanna believe that?"

"I recognized the car and assumed you stole it. You're both way too young to be the man I'm used to seeing behind the wheel."

"You—you knew Dad?!" Dean asked through the shock flooding his veins as the woman's words sunk through his skull.

"Well, if the 'Dad' you're referring to is named John Winchester, then yeah. You're Sam and Dean?" Jack stepped forward, reaching out toward the brothers and withdrawing when they both stepped back cautiously. "Sorry," she backpedaled, placing her hands on her hips. Her eyes stayed on the brothers' faces, however, studying each feature intensely. "It's just now that you say John's your dad, I can see it…I always pictured you boys a lot younger. The way your dad always talked about you…"

Jack smiled as she trailed off, shaking her head before crossing her arms over her chest. "How is that bastard doing, by the way? It's gotta have been at least three years since I've heard from him." The blonde realized her audience's faces were lined with a mixture of shock and grief, worry creeping into her voice as she continued. "What? Is something wrong?" Jack searched the brothers' faces, seeking reassurance. "He's alright, isn't he?"

"Dad died," Sam supplied when Dean remained silent. Jack's gaze snapped to his quickly. "Over a year ago now."

"Oh." Jack's gaze fell as her face morphed into a combination of shock and sadness. After staring at the rocks for several long, terse moments, Jack looked back up at the boys, a shuddering sigh escaping her chest before she attempted a small, clearly false smile. "Please, come inside. We clearly have a lot to talk about."

* * *

"So how did you know our dad?" Sam asked as he and Dean slid onto barstools in Jack's kitchen. Sam looked around the well-lit, spotless kitchen, struggling to wrap his head around what he was seeing. Most hunters he and Dean knew were nomadic, constantly moving from place to place chasing jobs. Those that did have houses didn't spend much time actually at home, and the houses themselves were typically filled floor to ceiling with books of lore and research for various jobs, weapons hidden in every corner and crevice. Jack's house, on the other hand, looked like something that belonged in an issue of _Better Homes and Gardens_ magazine, everything polished and in place, not a single hint of the hunting world anywhere that Sam could see. Even the shining black pistol Jack had threatened the boys with was gone, Jack having returned it to wherever it was she'd gotten it while the boys had been preoccupied with her order to take their shoes off before stepping foot in her house.

"Well, what do you guys already know?" Jack asked as she bustled around the kitchen, opening a cabinet and pulling out a glass before looking over her shoulder at the boys sitting at the kitchen island. "I don't wanna tell an entire story if you already know the beginning and middle. Can I get you guys anything to drink? Water, milk, juice, tea, coffee? I should have some Dr. Pepper if you want soda?"

"About you? Nothing," Dean stated as Sam declined Jack's drink offer and Jack closed the cabinet, carrying her glass over to the fridge to pull out a pitcher of tea. "But we do know our dad was here hunting a werewolf years ago, and that the werewolf had taken a man named James Lovell's wife. Police had labelled it a kidnapping, but James convinced our dad to tell him what really happened. James became a hunter and disappeared on a job nearly twenty years ago. The rest is fuzzy, but since he's James Lovell from Carrollton and you're Jack Lovell from Carrollton, I think we can safely assume you're"—

"Jacqueline Lovell. His daughter," Jack confirmed with a slow nod, sipping her drink before placing her glass on the counter as she fixed the boys with a clear stare. "I was only three when my mom disappeared," she revealed with a sigh. "I don't remember much about it…about my dad meeting John or anything. But after that, Dad would leave a lot. Leave me and my sister with the neighbors…sometimes he'd take us with him. Then my sister died when I was five…drowned," she added when the boys adopted matching questioning expressions. "I guess that made him realize he needed to teach me how to take care of myself. He taught me how to shoot…definitely made sure I knew how to swim. What werewolves were and how to kill them. Then, when I was eight, he left me with the neighbors for a hunt. Never came back." Jack crossed her arms protectively over her chest, a pained expression crossing her face at the memories being dredged up.

"My dad always worked alone," Jack continued after a moment. "But apparently he kept in touch with your dad off and on…just in case something ever happened. Your dad came looking when he'd heard my dad had vanished, but by then I'd been buried in the foster care system. By the time he managed to trace everything back to find me, I'd been adopted by a family in Vermont. I was in high school, on the track team, prepping for college…I'd completely erased every possible scrap of hunting from my life." A small smile played over Jack's face. "I guess you could say your dad got me into hunting. John showed up on my eighteenth birthday. I'd had to go to meetings with lawyers over the inheritance from my parents, and he was waiting for me in the parking lot when I came out of the office…said he was a friend of my father's and asked if he could talk to me. He took me to lunch and told me about hunting and"—

"Let me guess," Dean cut in with a smirk. "You were all for it and jumped in feet first?"

"Of course not!" Jack returned, surprise obvious in her face as she looked at the older Winchester. "I told him he was crazy and to leave me alone. That I had a life, friends and family, and was going to college in the fall. That monsters and ghosts weren't real and my dad had been insane."

"Well, I'm sure he took that well," Dean quipped sarcastically, his eyebrows rising.

Jack laughed softly. "He showed up again that summer, if that tells you anything," she revealed. "Managed to convince my parents to let me to come to Missouri with him, since I needed to survey the house and everything anyway…that it would be easier with someone who'd known my father there. He showed me all of my dad's hunting research and equipment to prove he wasn't crazy and neither was my dad."

"And _then_ you jumped feet first into hunting." Dean declared, sure he'd pegged it this time.

"Wrong again," Jack replied. "I was an eighteen year old girl who hadn't been anywhere near hunting since I was eight! All I remembered was that hunting and monsters were the reasons my parents were gone and I'd slept with a knife under my pillow 'til I was nearly sixteen. I didn't want to go back to that! I wanted to be normal: to go to school, meet some pre-med or engineering student, fall in love, have two-point-five kids, et cetera."

"So what'd you tell him?" Sam asked, causing Jack to laugh again.

"That hunting wasn't for me. That I wanted to go to school. Straight and simple."

"I bet he loved that," Dean inputted, remembering the fights his father and brother used to get into over the same topic. His sarcasm wasn't lost on his younger brother, who smirked as he seemed to remember much the same thing.

Jack shrugged. "He said it was fine. That hunting was my choice and he couldn't make that decision for me. John said it wasn't so much that he wanted me to hunt, it was just that he wanted me to be informed—to know the truth about my father and what he did, so that I'd know what was out there."

"I find that hard to believe," Dean admitted truthfully, exchanging a skeptical glance with his brother.

"So then how did you become a hunter?" Sam inquired, still trying to figure out how all the pieces fit together.

"I wouldn't so much say I'm a hunter," Jack hedged. "I'm more of a specialist."

"'Specialist?'" Dean repeated. "What do you mean by that?"

"Meaning I have a strict monsters-only policy," Jack informed the brothers. "No spirits. No demons. I want to be able to see and kill something. None of that disappearing act crap. And I tend to stick to werewolves. There have been a handful of shapeshifters here and a vampire or two there, and one really pissed off wendigo in Virginia, but other than that…the full moon is my preferred hunting atmosphere."

"Werewolves, huh?" Dean returned, raising his eyebrows. "Pickings are a little slim in that department, aren't they? I mean, we've only come across two werewolves since I was sixteen. They're nearly extinct."

"Well, now you know why," Jack returned with a wink.

"When did you 'specialize?'" Sam amended.

"It didn't take long, I'll tell you that," Jack replied, her manner straightforward as she took a drink of her tea before continuing. "I told John I didn't want to be a hunter in June of 1999…it was that very same November—my freshman year—when I made my first kill. In September, a few students were murdered in a park near campus. Their hearts were missing." Both Winchesters leaned forward slightly in fascination, immediately recognizing the signs the blonde spoke of. "I called your dad and told him I thought it was a werewolf; he said he was in the middle of another hunt and he'd be there as soon as he could. Two girls I'd been friends with and their boyfriends were among the victims…I couldn't bring myself to leave it alone. I started researching the cases…figured if nothing else I'd already have most of the information gathered when your dad got there."

A sad expression crossed the blonde's face, mixing with the wistfulness that lingered as she told her tale. "The day after the last night of the full moon, I was walking to my first class when I came across my friend Derek. He had blood on his hands and he was filthy—like he'd spent all night in the woods—and he couldn't remember anything from the night before other than he'd gone to bed early because he had a test the next day. I helped him get back to the dorms and get cleaned up." She exhaled loudly, her brows drawing together as she shook her head. "I felt sick the entire time. I knew it was him—he'd liked both of the girls that had been killed and they'd turned him down—but I prayed it wasn't. The killings stopped when the full moon was up, just as I'd expected. I called your father to update him, but I couldn't bring myself to tell him about Derek. I hoped I was wrong, so I told him I'd found no connections in the victims other than my two friends and their boyfriends…"

"So you lied," Dean cut in disapprovingly, knowing such an action could completely destroy a case.

"I…abridged," Jack returned quickly, a defensive note creeping into her tone. "How would you feel if you hadn't been near hunting in over a decade just for a friend of yours to be a werewolf?!" The brothers remained silent, and Jack continued after another long gulp of tea. "Anyway, I kept digging and kept my eye on Derek over the next few weeks. The full moon rolled around again…your dad still hadn't made it in…and I was trying to keep an eye on Derek. Me being the naïve kid I was at the time, I asked Derek to work late with me on a paper we both had due for a class. I figured if I kept him awake all night, he couldn't transform and hurt anybody." Jack sighed loudly. "We met up off campus…the same park where my other friends were killed. There was a little duck pond with a gazebo right by it that me and my friends had made our favorite study spot. He dozed off…couldn't have been out more than five minutes. But those few minutes were all it took."

Concern crept over Sam and Dean's faces as they realized where this story was going, recognizing the pain on Jack's face. It was the same pain Dean had felt when that Ronald guy had been killed while Sam and Dean had been hunting that shapeshifter in Milwaukee. It was the same pain Sam had felt when he'd lost Jessica. That pain could only be caused by the same idea running through one's head over and over: _if I'd acted faster, gotten there sooner, could I have saved them?_ That guilt was something that had to be buried deep, else someone would go crazy, and it was clear Jack was having to dredge that pain back up as she relived her tale.

"One minute I was reading about the plague with my friend, the next I was pinned to the ground with a werewolf on top of me," Jack revealed, her voice heavy.

"How'd you get away?" Sam asked, thinking back through the close encounters he'd had with monsters and spirits over the years and how he'd be dead many times over today if not for his dad or brother backing him up.

"I didn't," Jack stated simply, catching the boys' alarm. "I may have been naïve, and I may have not wanted anything to do with hunting, but I wasn't a total idiot. A werewolf was in the area; I was keeping a silver knife on me at all times 'til I knew it'd been dealt with. It took some work, but I managed to stab Derek in the heart. Didn't get away scot-free, though," Jack noted, stepping back from the island and lifting the hem of her shirt to where the boys could see an otherwise smooth, flat stomach marred on one side by five distinct claw marks that sloped down the right side of her stomach to curve over her hip before disappearing from sight beneath the denim of her jeans.

"Jesus," Dean muttered, his eyes widening at the severity of the mark.

"I called your dad after that," Jack continued, dropping her shirt back into place nonchalantly with a snicker. "Asked him what the hell I was supposed to do with a werewolf corpse. Told the hospital a dog had attacked me in the park and got to sport more than fifty stitches. I was hooked after that."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. I think if that had been my initiation into hunting, I probably would've gone running in the other direction."

Jack shrugged. "Maybe I'm just weird, maybe it was an adrenaline thing, but something just felt right about killing Derek…in the most demented way possible of course," Jack added quickly. "It just felt…"

"Like it was exactly what you were meant to do?" Dean supplied as Jack trailed off, at a loss for the words to describe what she'd felt all those years ago.

Jack nodded slowly, directing a small smile at Dean before shaking her head lightly. "Anyway, I was on the bandwagon after that night. I told my parents I was spending that Thanksgiving with my roommate's family, but I actually spent all of it out here, buried in my father's research, learning everything I could and organizing it all into something I could use. The chunk of full moon that fell on Christmas break that year was spent taking care of the werewolf that had bitten Derek…figured it was the least I could do. Most every full moon or school break turned into hunting time."

"So now you work as a waitress at that restaurant and hunt in your off time," Dean surmised, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on the island.

"Your score is still zero, Dean," Jack said with a loud laugh, continuing as Dean simply looked confused. "I don't work at the restaurant, I own it. A friend and I invested in it when I moved here after finishing college. I work from home as an actuary for an insurance company out of Kansas City, and I hunt on my off time."

"How do you juggle all that?" Sam asked, bewildered as he thought back to the aliases and costumes he and Dean had donned over the past few years of hunting. He couldn't imagine trying to manage all the aliases and a real job at the same time, all whilst being an active citizen of a home community.

"It's not so bad," Jack began with a shrug. "Werewolves are only active on the full moon, so I'm only gone on hunts once a month or so. And one of the perks to being adopted? Legally, my name is Jacqueline Helmundsson, but I was born Jacqueline Lovell. For everything in the civilian world, I'm a Helmundsson, but for hunting"—

"You're a Lovell," Sam cut in, connecting the dots.

"Two identities without the illegal part," Dean mused as he, too, reached the correct conclusion. "So that's how you knew"—

"That you were hunters, yeah. Sometimes you're on a hunt and you run into another hunter…they get your info in case they need your help again. Hunters all know me as Jack Lovell. Most people around here knew my parents and me when I was little, so they recognize it if they have someone ask them about a Jack Lovell and point them in the right direction. They know to call me if someone asks for me by that name, so I'm prepared when hunters show up out of the blue like you did."

"Well…sounds like you've got it all figured out," Dean declared.

"I manage." Jack then leaned over the island, propping herself up on her elbows as she leveled a serious look on Sam and Dean. "Enough about my story. What happened to your dad? Why do you need my help?"

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Please review! :)

Lauren


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